Addict.
by North1
Summary: A dark, slightly twisted relationship. Rating's just to be on the safe side. Please review.


**Title:**** Addict.**

**Author:**** Finula (darthjustaimee@Hotmail.com)**

**Disclaimer:****  I own nothing. Sigh.**

**Author's Notes:**** If you want to archive (okay, doubtful), please email me and let me know. First Smallville fanfic, and only second fanfic overall, so constructive criticism welcome, but flames are used to toast teacakes. Please review.**

**Summary:**** My favourite UC "Smallville" pairing, and there doesn't seem to be much of it about, so I thought I'd have a go. Starts with the second episode, "Metamorphosis", and twists the basic storyline continually from there. **

**Yesterday I cried.**

**I arrived home from school at the same time as usual, at the end of a usual day. I smiled at my aunt, chatted about our respective lives, laughed at a joke. Then I fixed a snack, went upstairs to do my homework and cried my eyes out. I think I scared myself.**

**I _don't_ cry. At least, I haven't for a long, long time. I cried when my parents died, of course I did. I remember that, even though I don't remember much else about them. And after I grew up a bit, I kinda figured that nothing that painful could happen again, so I shouldn't be crying for anything less. Almost as if it would be disrespectful to my mother and father if I wasted my tears on pettier things. Sounds stupider now than it did when I first thought of it that way.**

**But yesterday I couldn't help it. My eyes burned, and my throat choked up with hate, and vile self-loathing, bile that I pushed down and tried not acknowledge every day since It started.**

**_It._**** How dramatic. **

**I used to be the perfect all-American girl-next-door. Now I'm a guilt-ridden jittery addict waiting for her next fix. And I am addicted, just not to a drug, or even alcohol, though God knows they've factored in on occasion. I'm addicted to him. The harsh, nearly vicious way he kisses me, so different from Whitney, the way he touches me. I can't stop myself when we're alone, and only barely when we're not.**

**And he knows, Goddamnit. He knows. I can see it in the barely perceptible glint in his eyes when he looks at me, in a certain twist to his lips that no-one else notices. I can never decide whether to laugh or cry. Up until now, I've always gone with laugh. Hysterical, late at night, buried in my pillow.**

**Of course, he relishes the control. It's in his nature, and I would hardly expect anything less from Lex Luther. His enjoyment of the hold he has over me is only diminished by the fact that it's mutual.**

**I hate him. I disgust myself. I have the perfect life, perfect life, perfect looks, perfect boyfriend, with another perfect contender for boyfriend status if I decide I've tired of Whitney.**

**But all I live for are stolen glances, stolen moments when we meet unexpectedly, constant arranged meetings where my clothes are always too inconvenient.**

**It started so innocently. I was living the perfect clichéd teen drama, in that I had a great boyfriend, but 'Oh dear'. I had suddenly started noticing another 'certain someone' with an unusual penchant for saving peoples lives. Whatever should I do? And Lex seemed only too happy to play his part, as said 'certain someone's' loyal friend, trying to help us find our way to each other. How sweet. Is that a happy ending I see in view?**

**Hardly.**

**My perfect life came crashing down around me, right after my first conversation with, the if not new then definitely _improved_, Lex Luther.  Admittedly, the last time we met, I had been ten, and not really qualified to assess him, especially after the interesting yet, in my young mind at least, _gross_ scene I had just witnessed.**

**The chemistry was immediate, and I could hardly keep my mind on what we were talking about. Sort of: 'Oh, yeah, Clark, right…Whitney who?' etc.**

**The conversation was soon discarded in favour of more exciting activities, anyway. Yeah, I'm not exactly proud to admit my first time…well, first few times, to be honest… was on the ground in a stable. Way to near to my horse for comfort.**

**And afterwards all I could think about was seeing him again. And again and again. Guilt wasn't a problem then, because I didn't think about anyone else. I was so wrapped up in what I wanted that I barely even thought about any feelings Lex might've had. It's not like he was big on sharing. I started feeling sick to my stomach when he first tried to call it off. He realised a lot sooner than I did that the attraction, need, desire, whatever between us was unhealthy. Addictive, even, and he hated not being in complete control of himself. **

**The halt lasted twelve hours and 46 minutes. Then he caught up with me at school during lunch, we drove off in his car and spent the next six hours alternating between fucking and being as horrible towards each other as possible.**

**When Whitney called me that night I claimed I'd gone home with a migraine.**

**Both Lex and me have tried to finish it a few times since, but it never lasted. Sometimes I like to pretend that it's something in the air or water of this weird town. That I'm being forced into this against my will, and I'm not a terrible person. Sometimes I think Whitney sees the mask slip, and a little slice of the real me showing through. It shows in his almost imperceptible wince, and the flash of hurt in his eyes. We don't talk, really, we just live out the façade. At least it's a façade to me. Maybe to Whitney it's real, and he is the all American jock who tells me he loves me, and believes me when I say that the bruises on my hips are due to clumsiness around the sharp corners of furniture, and the hickies on my neck and collarbone are due to carelessness with the curling tongs, and scarves really are back in fashion. **

**Or maybe he wears a mask too.**

**TBC? (From other peoples perspectives?)**


End file.
